"Are you sure you heard it right?" Alex Ray asked Strange, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.
"Reincarnators... I'm certain," Strange replied, brows furrowed as if recalling some hidden memory. "Is there a problem?"
"I'm sure of what I heard," he continued, voice more resolute. "I've observed countless timelines and possible futures. In every one, a large group of people invades Hell's Kitchen… and they all call themselves Reincarnators."
"Reincarnators… is there anything special about them?" Strange asked, curiosity mixing with a faint unease. He turned toward Alex, studying him with careful eyes.
To Strange, it might've seemed like just another variable—yet Alex's reaction said otherwise. His silence, his tension, told Strange that the name carried far more weight than he'd realized.
Alex didn't answer right away. Instead, he closed his eyes slowly, inhaling deeply as if trying to calm a storm inside his chest.
When he opened them again, he said nothing. He simply turned and walked away in silence, ascending the stairs with deliberate, heavy steps, as though each footfall bore the weight of a different world.
Strange watched him go, troubled by the silence, and the questions it refused to answer.
Inside his room, Alex Ray closed the door behind him with a soft click that echoed through the stillness like a lock sealing shut.
He moved toward the worn-down sofa without hesitation. As he sank into it, the leather groaned softly beneath his weight.
His eyes stared forward, unfocused—deep, distant, as though gazing through walls, through time itself.
Unconsciously, his hand reached for a lighter on the coffee table. His fingers ran slowly over the cold, scratched surface of the metal casing, seeking a strange sort of reassurance in its familiarity.
Click.
A small flame burst to life, lighting the cigarette at his lips. Smoke curled up around his face, veiling it in a hazy, wavering blur.
"Heh… never thought I'd run into an 'old friend' here," he muttered to himself, voice dry with irony and a trace of bitterness. The smoke mingled with his words, twirling upward like ghosts of memories past.
The concept of "Reincarnators" wasn't foreign to Alex.
In his past life, he'd devoured novel after novel centered on that very idea—travelers cast into different worlds, forced to survive, evolve, conquer, and plunder to grow stronger. Every jump between dimensions, every battle fought, was a test of will and ambition.
"Do you want to understand the meaning of life? Do you want to truly... live?"
That line had echoed through his thoughts more times than he could count. It was etched into his soul like a mantra, tempting him toward chaos, challenge, and transcendence.
He had once idolized figures—a fictional man who embodied calculated cruelty and ruthless intelligence, surviving impossible odds with sheer strategy and ice-cold logic. Alex had admired that. Had dreamed of it. Imagined himself as a Reincarnator, carving his path through thousands of universes, shaping fate with every step.
But now?
Now that Reincarnators had crossed into this world—this Earth, this Marvel Universe—they no longer looked like adventurous dreamers.
They were interdimensional raiders. Tools of a higher, faceless entity. Mercenaries employed by something called the Lord God Space, their only directive to plunder and destroy.
And Alex knew what that meant.
They were worse than villains. Worse than Ultron, worse than Loki, worse even than Mephisto.
Because they didn't come with ideology or vengeance or misplaced justice.
They came for destruction. Nothing more.
"This planet's a damn mess," Alex muttered, shaking his head.
He still couldn't wrap his head around it.
Why Earth?
In the scale of the multiverse, Earth was little more than a speck—a blue dot on the cosmic canvas. And yet, it had become the focal point of every threat imaginable: ancient gods, celestial wars, reincarnators, and even the damn cosmic cube.
It was like the universe was obsessed with this place.
"I seriously don't get it," he said with a sigh, dragging in a long inhale of smoke before blowing it out in a slow stream. "What's so special about Earth that everyone wants a piece of it?"
He almost missed Thanos.
As mad as that sounded, at least Thanos had a purpose—a twisted logic behind his chaos. Compared to the chaos bearing down on them now, the Mad Titan felt like a quaint childhood trauma.
At least you could plan around Thanos. Predict him. Fight him.
This?
This was beyond strategy.
Alex leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight around the cigarette.
"We really don't know how good we had it…" he whispered.
The Marvel Universe he'd once known—one of clear-cut heroes, of golden-age idealism and thematic arcs—was long gone.
All his former plot knowledge, his meta awareness, was worthless now.
Torn up. Outdated. Irrelevant.
What had once been an advantage was now a liability.
And moving Hell's Kitchen into a dimensional pocket wasn't exactly a masterstroke either. He knew that now.
Originally, it was just a move made out of instinct. A reaction to his sixth sense screaming at him about an impending catastrophe.
But then Tony had stepped in and shut it down—hard.
Not dismissed, but redirected.
Tony Stark's solution had been bold. Visionary.
Rather than try to defend the Earth from countless multidimensional threats, he proposed creating a mirror dimension—an exact copy of New York's —within a stable dimensional pocket.
---------
🎇🎇 Check out new Fanfiction 🎇🎇
🎊 Naruto : Tsunade You're Really Drunk 🎊
---------
Bonus Chapter - 150 Power Stones
2nd Bonus Chapter - 300 Power Stones
---------------
📚 Enjoying the Story? Get Ahead Now!
Can't wait for the next twist or epic moment?
Join my Patreon and unlock 40+ advanced chapters—read ahead of everyone else! 🔥
👉 https://www.patreon.com/UK21
Your support means the world to me—thank you so much! 💖
-------------